


At Dawn He Comes

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, as a man who writes novels for a living, has to fight writer's block painfully often. That's when his muse comes to help - a mysterious man who calls himself Castiel. He is a lover, helper, and he always brings words with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Dawn He Comes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jokerindisguise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jokerindisguise/gifts).



When Dean eyes the clock, he notices it’s well past three in the morning. Tired, he takes off his glasses and rubs his face, trying to wipe away the sleep. He can’t afford to go to bed right now, not yet. He’s got a deadline lurking at him, coming in three days, and he’s not even remotely close to finishing his new book. A couple of sleepless nights will have to do.

He stares at the computer screen, not bothering with glasses anymore. After he rereads the last paragraph he’d written seven times, he realizes his story has once again defeated him. There’s no point in trying.

He turns off the computer then, and drags his feet to his bedroom. He’s tired, unbelievably so, and a thought keeps bugging him – what if he’s got a writer’s block now? He would be screwed.

Despite these thoughts eating at him, Dean falls into his bed and not bothering with changing into pajamas – sweatpants and a plain white shirt are totally a plan B sleep clothes – he fall asleep within two minutes.

Dean wakes up not many hours later. There’s a hand brushing against his neck, and for the thousandth time Dean wonders how it can be both cold and warm, soothing.

He opens his eyes to the dimly lit room. The sun is not up yet, but the morning light is fighting its way through the curtains already. He spots the dark figure sitting cross-legged right next to him, their hand still pressed against Dean’s skin.

“Hello, Dean,” the man says in a low voice and he smiles gently. He pulls his hand away, then, having it used just to wake Dean up.

Dean is trying to calm down and ignore how thrilled he is to see this man in front of him again. It’s not their first encounter – the man first appeared when Dean started to struggle with his writing and after they spent the night together, Dean could write again. The man has never said so, but what with his strange behavior, bright aura always around him, Dean simply figures the man is his muse.

Peculiar, pretty, possibly not real muse. Whatever.

“Will you ever tell me your name?” Dean questions him as he sits up in the bed. “Last time you promised you would.”

The man smiles at Dean and, kneeling, he leans in. He presses his lips against Dean’s softly as if asking for permission; as always. “My name is Castiel,” the man says in a whisper, his breath hitting Dean’s mouth.

Dean sucks it in in surprise – he spent months begging for a name and now it comes unexpected, new. He forgets to close his mouth for a second as he stares at the man – Castiel –, noticing his shiny blue eyes. He considers thanking him, as if the name was a sweet Castiel put on top of Dean’s tongue, but he stays silent.

“Are you having trouble writing, my love?” Castiel asks in a quiet voice, as if afraid it would hurt Dean, even though it’s just words.

Dean shivers at the endearment. “I – yes,” he admits then and swallows, letting Castiel’s hand to rest on his knee – and he lets him move it upwards, too.

Castiel grins then, his thumb massaging Dean’s inner thigh through the fabric. “We’ll fix that, okay?”

Dean blinks a few times, because yes, _yes_. He distinctly remembers the first time Castiel appeared in his bedroom out of nowhere and touched him intimately, tried to seduce him – Dean was freaking out, scared he was about to be raped and killed. But with every word Castiel said, Dean kept falling deeper and deeper into it and when Castiel finally crawled on top of him, Dean was relieved.

Just like he is now. He relies on Castiel and his visits too much, he knows. Every time Castiel pays him a visit, Dean is capable of sitting behind his computer and writing for hours, and he’s not going to lie, that’s not the only part he enjoys about this whole thing. He enjoys Castiel’s body, too; and the way Castiel treats him – it’s always a weird mixture of gentle and demanding and it really works.

Dean purses his lips to prevent himself from saying ‘please’ and then he nods. 

He sub-consciously spreads his legs and Castiel slides between them. Dean is silent when Castiel’s hands slip under his shirt and while travelling up his torso, they roll up the piece of clothing. 

“Take this off for me, love,” Castiel commands quietly and Dean’s hands do the job more than willingly while Castiel takes care of Dean’s sweatpants. Dean’s stomach ties into a knot when he realizes there’s no underwear protecting him. But as always, Castiel is not embarrassed at all.

After he undresses himself – it happens quickly, Dean doesn’t even comprehend _when_ , it’s just that Castiel is naked and pressed against him all of a sudden, his lips chasing after Dean’s.

Dean leans in to the kiss, catching Castiel’s lips with an exhale. As he closes his eyes, his shyness fades away, or possibly, Castiel takes it away from him simply by touch. And maybe it’s his mouth, melting against Dean’s, lips apart, welcoming and warm and when Dean buries his tongue in there, it feels strangely safe.

Dean’s hands fly out, gripping Castiel’s shoulder, trying to hold him as close as possible. His hips move forwards, demanding attention, rubbing against Castiel’s hip. Dean doesn’t need his eyes to see where his hands are going next – he knows his muse’s body, knows where to touch him to earn more pleasure. 

Their kiss is slow and perhaps a bit sloppy, and not a word is uttered throughout the whole thing. Dean doesn’t talk during their nights in general – it’s only before or after the act. If anyone talks, it’s Castiel, uttering words of comfort or soft simple orders for Dean to follow. He always does.

Dean’s eyes are still closed when Castiel’s fingers travel down to Dean’s ass and then they’re inside. They slip inside, covered in _something_ that could be either saliva or lube, even though they never even stopped kissing. Castiel just _does_ these things, as if he could do anything in the world without trying all too hard.

Dean arches his back, his mouth open. Castiel takes control over it, shoving his tongue past Dean’s lips, adding another finger to the first one. He pushes them inside and when Dean groans silently, Castiel starts moving them.

Castiel’s lips wonder down Dean’s jaw, pressing against his neck. “My love,” he mumbles into the skin there and it’s not another command, it’s just a fact that maybe should have stayed in Castiel’s mind only. But it’s out and Dean throws his head back, happy and ecstatic, granting Castiel better access to his neck that way.

“Castiel, please,” Dean moans after a few more minutes, trying to fight back the urge to just move against Castiel’s fingers. He takes extra pleasure in saying Castiel’s name out loud, feeling privileged to even know it, now, after months.

Castiel looks displeased for a second, as if he wanted to keep doing this for as long as possible and Dean’s whiny plead is bothering him. For some reason, though, he doesn’t say anything. Despite being the one who gives orders, he only gives them when he knows Dean will appreciate them. And right now, what Dean will appreciate, is Castiel buried deep in his ass; it sounds rough in Dean's mind, something he would never associate with Castiel, but it’s what he wants. It’s what he _needs_.

And Castiel obeys.

Soon, his fingers gets replaced by his cock, and although he pushes all the way inside quickly, Castiel holds himself up for a few seconds so Dean gets the chance to adjust to the new sensation.

And Dean is restless, needy underneath Castiel’s body. His hands are slipping down Castiel’s arms, wet and covered in sweat, and he desperately moves his hips, his legs enveloping Castiel’s hips and forcing him to go deeper.

If he dared, he might have begged to be held and fucked, but Dean doesn’t dare at all. In the end, Castiel always knows what’s going on in Dean’s mind, he’s always one step ahead, because before Dean finishes the thought, Castiel moves in him.

Dean considers Castiel’s thrusts slow and teasing before they pick up a steady pace. Castiel rests one of his hands on Dean’s hip while the other finds Dean’s leaking cock and gives it a firm squeeze, almost sending Dean off the edge.

His body is Castiel’s for the time being, and his mind is blank. He tries to keep his eyes open, tries to look at Castiel’s smiling face – always smiling, always trying to comfort the man he’s making love to. It’s not always possible, though, especially not with Castiel’s cock hitting Dean’s prostate every now and then, and his hand working Dean’s cock to orgasm.

“I can’t – for much longer – I – “ Dean is aware of his stuttering, is momentarily embarrassed thanks to it, but then Castiel’s lips come down and steal Dean’s once again, his tongue running over Dean’s teeth.

He bites down on Dean’s lower lip, his weight so real on Dean, as he quickens his pace both with his hips and his hand.

Dean wishes he could hold on to this for a little longer, but he can’t – his orgasm takes him away from reality, stealing him for what seem to be hours and hours but is only a few seconds of pure bliss. Castiel holds him through it, fucks him through it, kisses him through it.

As Dean comes back to and starts to acknowledge real world again, his breathing still shallow, he feels spent and used in the best way possible. The tips of his fingers are tingling; they have given up on holding on to Castiel a long time ago and now they’re lifelessly lying by his sides. 

His mind is full of words once again, black on white paper and piercing. He opens his eyes to thank Castiel, to talk for just a minute or to simply take one more look at him, but Castiel is gone. Dean has no idea when he disappeared, because he still feels warm all over as if hiding in someone’s arms, and he never even felt Castiel pull out. 

He sighs, the room strangely empty and impersonal, like a stranger lurking at him from a dark corner. He blinks a few times, fighting off the disappointment. Sometimes, he wishes Castiel would stay. 

Then Dean fights these thoughts off and even though it’s nearing six in the morning and he definitely didn’t get enough sleep, he gets up and walks across the house to his study.

He can write now. That’s important. And what might be even more important is that if he loses the ability once again, Castiel will come.

Dean’s not sure why, but despite his deadline, he can’t wait for it to happen.


End file.
